Me and My Hittas 4

by Tranay Adams

  Four years in and he became somewhat of a Boogeyman for criminals. He reasoned that to catch the bad guy you had to become him or something worse. He believed it had to be done even if it meant losing your identity in the process, because if not the world would come to destroy its self and everyone in it.

  Arsenegger downed the last of his White Russian and knocked the glass of ice on the bar-top, trying to get the bartender’s attention. A burly man with a balding scalp and black rings around his eyes turned around cleaning out a beer mug with a rag. Done cleaning the beer mug, he hung it above the bar along with the others.

  “Jesus, another one? This will be your fifth one in the past hour.” The bartender commented on him wanting another drink. “What do ya have? A vendetta against your liver or something?”

  Arsenegger pulled out a cigarette from the wrinkled pack that was in his breast pocket and slid it between his thin, pink lips. Cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, he said, “Aye, Ned, do me a favor, will ya?” he took the time to light his cancer stick, took a puff, and then blew smoke. “Shut your fat fucking mouth and get my drink! If I wanted shit about my drinking I’d go to Alcoholics Anonymous. Hurry along now, chop! Chop!” he clapped the bar-top.

  “You want your drink? I get chu your fucking drink.” The bartender mumbled under his breath as he turned his back on Arsenegger and smacked the glass down. He went about the task of making the White Russian. He poured Vodka, coffee liqueur and milk into the glass. He glanced over his shoulder to see if Arsenegger was watching him and he wasn’t. So he spat in his drink and stirred it up. Turning around, he approached Arsenegger with a smile and sat his drink in front of him. “Sorry, about that earlier, this ones on the house,” He told his shady ass.

  A tall, slender black kid in a snapback Red Sox cap and square diamond earrings too big for his earlobes came strolling into the bar with two other guys and three chicks. Arsenegger was just about to take a sip of his drink, but stopped the glass at his lips once he saw them in the large mirror behind the bar. He was focused on the tall black kid in the snapback rocking the over sized diamond earrings. He had an eerie resemblance to Gouch, especially once he started laughing with the others when one of the guys he was with told a joke. Arsenegger imagined that the kid was Gouch, and that he was laughing at him after pummeling him back at the hospital.

  Arsenegger sat his drink down and felt the stitches above his brow compliments of the lanky thug. Remembering how that nigga Gouch had whipped his ass pissed him off. Malice poisoned his heart and he clenched his teeth, causing his tightened jaw to twitch. Before he knew it the black kid was standing beside him ordering a pitcher of beer. He threw his head back saying “what’s up?” to Arsenegger and tossed back a few beer nuts as he patiently waited for his pitcher. Arsenegger turned around to him on his stool and said, “Aye, don’t put your fucking hands on me! I’ma officer of the law, buddy!”

  Porno looked around confused. He wasn’t for sure if Arsenegger was speaking to him or not. “Yo, what the fuck are you talking about?”

  Arsenegger looked around to make sure no one was watching him and then said, “OK, that’s it, asshole! I’m running you…” he stopped and whipped his head back as if Porno had punched him. “Motherfucker!” he swung around and punched the young man in the jaw, dropping him to the floor. “Stop resisting arrest!” he shouted, kicking and stomping him on the kid. Seeing his victim’s friends running up on him at the corner of his eye, Arsenegger drew his weapon from its holster and turned on them. “Back the fuck up! This man is under arrest for assaulting an officer of the law!”

  “What the fuck?!” one of the guys said in disbelief.

  “Hey, man, he never touched you; I was watching him the entire time.” The other guy added.

  “Well, if you were, how did you miss him throw that sucker punch?” Arsenegger handcuffed Porno and pulled him to his feet. Porno’s legs were like Jello under him. He could barely stand. On top of that, he had two knots on his forehead, his right-eye was swollen shut and he was bleeding from his lip. Arsenegger had done a number on him.

  Arsenegger escorted Porno outside and threw him into the backseat of his Crown Victoria. He resurrected the engine and drove off with the kid talking shit in the backseat. “Old crooked ass mothafucking cops, man! Y’all think y’all are gonna keep getting away with this type of shit?!” Porno locked eyes with Arsenegger through the rearview mirror for a moment. A light bulb of recognition came on inside of his head. “Wait a minute; I thought I knew your trifling ass. Boy tonight is not your night. See, you fucked around and violated the wrong nigga. I got something for your punk ass. When I’m done with you, you’ll be down on your knees with a revolver in your mouth ready to end it all.” He spat blood on the floor.

  The Crown Victoria came to an abrupt halt. Arsenegger threw it in park and turned to the backseat. “Oh, you threatening me, cock sucker?” he barked, climbing over the backseat punching a defenseless Porno in the face and head until he was exhausted. Once he was done he wiped his bleeding knuckles off with some napkins from the glove-box and pulled off.

  Arsenegger drove Porno to an alley that sat between two abandoned warehouses where he kicked his ass some more and left him lying unconscious. After handing down a beating to the guy, he felt slightly better about the thrashing Gouch gave him.

  $$$

  Domino and Wacko sat at the kitchen table chopping up tan crack rocks, weighing them, and then bagging them up. The Saran Wrap from two blocks of cocaine lay strewn on the table among cocaine residue and black digital scales.

  Paybacc lay on the couch watching TV in a wife-beater stained with spaghetti and sweat pants. His Calico M950 lie on the coffee-table next to a bowl stained with pasta, a half empty bottle of Heineken, a wrinkled pack of Newport 100s and an ashtray littered with butts. He laughed his head off at the antics of Lucy that played out on the screen before him.

  “Cuz, we definitely gone need some more work.” Domino told Paybacc. “These are the last two bricks we got to work with and the homies have damn near burned through that other shit.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ma get on the jack with Creeper in a minute.” Paybacc busted up laughing all of a sudden while looking at TV. “You wasn’t lying though, Loco. That spic got some exceptional work on deck.”

  “I told you.” Domino reminded him.

  “This time I’ma double up on these niggaz.” He told him his plans, never taking his eyes away from the TV screen. “Once we dead Booby and his people, we can get this money without any distractions. Shit will be lovely then.”

  “Fa’ sho’.”

  “Man, I gotta take a shit.” Paybacc frowned after hearing his stomach grumbling. He snatched his cell phone off of the charger in the corner of the living room and made for the bathroom. Once he’d gone, Wacko tapped Domino on his arm.

  “We should just say fuck it and slump him while he’s on the shitter.” The little nigga suggested to Domino. “He left his gat on the coffee-table, so he’ll be at our mercy.”

  “Nah, the deal was to wait until he gets his re-up. You heard him say he was gone double up, right? That’s twenty of them thangs we can flip; all profit. We can eat, and good, too.”

  “I’m just saying, cuz.”

  “I got this.” Domino assured him. “His time is coming; you just play your position until then, all right?”

  Wacko blew hard and nodded his head.

  His patience was wearing thin.

  Chapter Eight

  The sun rose over the horizon bullying the night and shedding its light over the city streets. People were out and about leaving and coming to their destinations, or waiting on buses and flagging down taxis to get to them. The day was like any other day for many people except for a chosen few and Pavielle Hood. Today he was being released from Twin Towers County Jail. He had only been there for a few hours. It wasn’t long enough for the foreign stench to embed in his skin and warrant a bath, but he was going to take one anyway once he
’d gotten home. He was in dire need of one seeing how he’d only been given sponge baths during the past couple of months he was in the hospital. It was one of the few things he longed for and missed since he drifted into a coma. But it would have to wait because he had more pressing matters to attend to before he took care of his hygiene.

  Pavielle stepped out through the doors of The Twin Towers with the support of his Oakwood cane. He took his time making his way to the corner where a group of pigeons congregated. A red H2 Hummer came to a halt at the corner disturbing the pigeons. The feathery creatures flew off in all directions flapping their wings and leaving feathers floating around in the air. The rays of the sun blinded Pavielle as he approached the backdoor of the hog. He raised a hand over his brows to block the illumination, idling behind the Hummer were three more vehicles of all make and models. Stashed inside were hardheads armed to the teeth looking to earn recognition and a check along with it. Pavielle smiled. He had goons on deck and pitied the poor bastards that would dare try to make a move on him that day. They were sure to be turned into Swiss cheese along with whatever whip they were in. He was confident that the weapons his shooters were packing could turn any vehicle into the car Bonnie and Clyde got caught slipping in.

  Pavielle opened the backdoor, tossed his cane inside, and climbed in. Slamming the door closed, he gave the hog the once over. Occupying the vehicle were Gangsta, Gouch and Vayda, who was sitting in the backseat with him.

  “Hey, baby.” She greeted and kissed him on the cheek.

  Pavielle frowned and looked up front to Gangsta and Gouch. “Fuck is she doing here? Y’all know all of the shit we got popping out here, with all of these mothafuckaz tryna kill us. You know that she’s carrying my seed. Y’all putting two lives in jeopardy with her being here.”

  “My fault, Booby,” Gouch said from behind the wheel. “She begged me to come along to pick you up. I turned simp and gave in. My bad, Blood.”

  Pavielle sighed and looked to Vayda.

  “I’m sorry, baby. Don’t be mad at Gucci, be mad at me.” Vayda pleaded with him. “I really wanted to see you, boo. I mean I almost lost you…we almost lost you.” She corrected herself and placed Pavielle’s hand on her belly. This made him brighten up. He smiled as he rubbed his lady’s protruding stomach, kissing it lovingly.

  “Good morning, prince.” Pavielle spoke to his unborn child. “Have you been taking care of the kingdom in my absence?” he placed his ear to Vayda’s belly and his eyes lit up. “He kicked! I think he heard me.” He looked to his boo smiling.

  Vayda smiled as she rubbed the side of her man’s face, staring deep into his brown eyes. “I love you, Pavy.”

  “I love you, too.” He kissed her.

  “Soft ass nigga,” Gouch laughed.

  “Shut up, Gucci!” Vayda nudged Gouch in the head. “You always got something to say.”

  “Don’t mind me, bro.” Gouch told Pavielle. “I’ll leave the loving to you, and you leave the killing to me and the girls.” He referred to his twin Berettas. He’d gotten himself a new pair once he got back into the thick of things.

  “Yeah, whatever, nigga,” Pavielle looked over the insides of the hummer. He knocked on the window, it was solid. “Shit bulletproof. Did Gizmo armor all of your whips?”

  “Yep, and they all have stash spots for them thangz, too.” Gangsta let it be known. He motioned for Pavielle to lean forward with his finger. Pavielle leaned forward as far as his wounds would allow. He watched as Gangsta pushed a button that ejected a secret compartment that exposed a black .9mm automatic. He passed the handgun to the backseat. Pavielle took the .9mm and tucked it into his waistline. Gangsta pressed the button again and the compartment closed. “Sweet, huh?”

  “Hell yeah, Binem will never think to look in there for a strap.” Pavielle was impressed.

  “We’re getting all of your cars fitted with the same shit. We’re on our way to Gizmo’s now to pick up your whips.” Gangsta informed him.

  “Bool,” the young kingpin lay back in the seat. Vayda laid her head into his lap and closed her eyes. He played with her hair as he stared out of the limousine tinted window at the scenery, watching it change before his eyes.

  “Alright, this is it.” Gouch pulled the Hummer up to the curb outside of Gizmo’s Auto and Repair shop. He hopped out and Gangsta followed suit.

  Pavielle hopped out and closed the backdoor on Vayda as she was trying to hop out. “Unh unh, you stay inside; you’re carrying the most valuable treasure in this world. And I’ll be damned if I let a nigga take that from me.” Vayda giggled and smiled. He kissed her and motioned for the black Mercedes Benz that had the Muslims as its cargo. Nasheed and his men filed out of the vehicle and moved in formation to protect his queen. With quick motions of his finger, Nasheed directed the Muslims on where to stand around the Hummer to shield Vayda. The Muslims took the left, right, back and front of the Hummer.

  Nasheed gave a stern look and nod to Pavielle letting him know that he had everything under control. Pavielle returned the nod and walked toward the auto shop with Gangsta and Gouch. Entering the garage of the auto shop, the threesome saw sparks flying as a crew of Mexican men was hard at work on cars wielding, adding tires, and sound systems among other things. A tall dude rocking an unkempt afro, a bushy mustache, and thick eyeglasses approached them from the left wiping his hands with an oil stained rag. He was dressed in a navy blue Dickie suit and steel-toe boots.

  “I take it you’re here to pick up your toys?” Gizmo said to the threesome.

  “Yeah,” Pavielle nodded.

  “Follow me.” Gizmo motioned for them to follow him. He led them into a darker area of the huge garage, which was hidden in the confines of a shadow. He pressed in a combination on the digital keypad and the shutter rose, exposing a secret garage loaded with cars of all makes and models. These were the vehicles of the men and women in the underworld who’d come in to have their vehicles bulletproofed and installed with secret compartments to hide illegal possessions. One of the most famous jobs that Gizmo was known for were dummy gas-tanks. Hustlers would come to get the dummy gas tanks installed because they could use it to hide their work in whenever they were going out of town to re-up.

  Gizmo showed Pavielle his Mercedes Benz CLK and his cherry red Chevrolet Impala. He had bulletproofed them all and equipped them with stash spots. Gizmo opened the doors of both vehicles and allowed Pavielle to make a thorough inspection of them both. Pavielle made his way around to the front of his Mercedes Benz and drew his .9mm automatic from his waistline. He took aim at the windshield of the luxury vehicle while Gangsta, Gouch and Gizmo were discussing the work he’d done on the cars.

  Bloc! Bloc! Bloc! Bloc!

  The barrel of Pavielle’s weapon erupted as it ejected hollow tip slugs, startling Gangsta, Gouch and Gizmo. The gunshots echoed throughout the garage and the empty shell casings hit the floor smoking. Pavielle lowered his .9mm automatic to his side and smirked seeing that he was only able scratch the surface of his whip with the slugs. He nodded his head in approval and looked over to Gangsta, Gouch and Gizmo. They were all wearing shocked expressions.

  “This shits official.” Pavielle tucked his .9mm automatic on his waistline and approached Gizmo, slapping hands and embracing him. “I see you haven’t gotten sloppy, you do good work, Giz.”

  “Thanks.” Gizmo pushed his glasses back upon his face. Gouch shoved a crinkled brown paper bag of money into his possession and he peered inside. He picked up one of the rubber-band stacks out of the brown paper bag, licked his thumb, and flickered through the bills. Satisfied, he dropped the stack back into the brown paper bag.

  “We good?” Gangsta inquired.

  Gizmo gave him a thumb up and shook all of their hands.

  “Gucci, I’ll whip the Benzo, you roll the Chevy back.” Gangsta ordered.

  “I wanna pick up some flowers and push out to Inglewood Cemetery. I haven’t seen G-momma, my moms, and pops in a while.” Pavielle told his uncle.
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  “Yeah, me either.” Gouch draped his arm over his brother’s shoulders.

  “Alright, bet.” Gangsta caught the car keys when Gizmo tossed them to him. “We can get two of the homies to roll these then.” He pulled his cellular from off of his waistline and placed his call.

  After picking up triplet bouquet of flowers, Pavielle and company rolled out to Inglewood Cemetery. A band of shooters stood out by the vehicles keeping an eye on things while the Muslims accompanied Booby and his family to his relatives’ graves. After laying the flowers on G-momma, Robin, and Joshua’s graves, Pavielle stood looking over their grave-stones. His eyes welled up as a collage of memories invaded his thoughts. Tears spilled over the rims of his eyes and down his cheeks. He wiped his face with his sleeve and Gouch draped his arm over his shoulder for comfort.

  “Are you, all right?” Gouch asked his baby brother.

  Pavielle nodded his head and said, “I’m good.”

  “I love you, bro.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Vayda interlocked her fingers with Pavielle’s and leaned her head against his shoulder as she became teary eyed.

  “Yo, Booby,” A voice called out to Pavielle. Everyone looked to where the voice came and saw Gangsta. He waved them all over and they started in his direction. Approaching, Pavielle saw that his uncle was standing before Nightmare’s tombstone. His sadden expression quickly converted to one of hatred. Unconsciously, he found himself biting down on his bottom lip and balling his fists. He stood face to face with the tombstone of the man that had killed countless of his homies, rape and murdered his grandmother, and nearly made his unborn child a bastard. It was safe to say that he hated Nightmare more than he hated any of his enemies, and there weren’t many of them alive to speak of.

  “Bitch ass nigga, I beat chu, pussy. I won!” Pavielle harped up a glob of saliva and spat it on Nightmare’s tombstone. The Muslims exchanged glances and whispered among one another, they didn’t agree with what he had done. Gouch and Gangsta just stood there with frowns plastered on their faces. They both understood the hatred that Pavielle had in his heart for the infamous gangster because they had it in theirs, too.